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Here's another description for a planeswalker character of mine.
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A young artificer from the plane of Ravnica. Almost completely covered by its vast city, is said to be almost artificial, even though nature lives and flourishes amongst the vast amount of structures. The climate varies from district to district and magic clings to the air itself.

Alexanders lust for power through his childhood was something he had seen as a dream. But as power slowly emerged and he joined one of the ten mightiest guilds of Ravnica, he realized that this would be the beginning to his rise to power. But maybe not the power he thought he would obtain. Little did he know that his powers were going to be taken advantage of, and that the chain of events would turn his life upside down.

Alexander was a savant at engineering and magical infusing, where he made a discovery of a certain metal alloy that reacts differently to each kind of magic infused to it. The young wizard made several trinkets that could enhance and infuse each other in loops, making him able to both store spells and enhance them over time.
A tiny spark stored into a infinity mechanism could turn into a powerful jolt enough to snuff the life out of a human being, just in a manner of minutes.

The Parun of his guild, the great dragon Niv-mizzet found this most exciting, and further investigation was made into the magical metal. As infrastructure to the golems of the guild were reinforced with this metal, it chain-reacted with the great amount of electrical energy that kept the golems running, short-circuiting the whole defense system of the guilds outer rings. In a frantic panic, more were produced without the metal infusion, and Alexander was put up for trial for a mistake he didn't commit.

He was charged for treason amongst the guild even though the testing of the metal had not been properly performed.
In a last attempt to please the mind of the great dragon, Alexander tried to appease and imply better uses for the metal.
The young artificer stood up for his belief and that his potential was wasted if he was to be discarded.
Mizzet called him an arrogant little ant and that no one would miss "just another engineer", which made Alexanders normally calm and calculating mind snap completely. The spell he had stored ever since he had created the infused metal trinket fastened into his glove was released as he attacked his master in a blind rage.

A crack of lightning lept from his large artificer gloves, sending a bolt of raw magical power straight through the dragons skull, shaking his master up almost to the point of feinting. The room lit up to the point where all the other engineers and craftsmen were vision impaired or even blinded by it.
However, the retaliation was a lot stronger than what Alexander would have ever thought, and after a brief battle, he was easily overcome by the dragons mighty fire.

Niv-Mizzet opened his mighty jaws, breathing flames hotter than hellfire itself, eating through whatever deflective or defensive spell that Alexander could muster.
In a final attempt to defend himself, he unloaded another stored up spell, but it was all in vain.
The crack of lightning backfired, but for reasons other than malfunction. The planeswalker spark from inside him awoke, feeding on his enhanced spell, sending his body through the astral plane and away from danger. Away from the prosecution of his guild and away from his last dreams of being an engineer for the Izzet League.

Whatever new plane he'd appear on, would at the least save his life. For the moment.

Here's one of my many characters, and the first introduction to a character I've ever written down: Skald.

I intend to write down more, since I need some work of reference for upcoming roleplays and whatnot.
Or if someone is interested in the characters that I use, and simply wishes to know a little background story.
More in-depth character details can be filled in at the time of need.


In the deepest recesses of the dark prison, voices echoed between the jail cells. Cries for both mercy and relief, whether it be from freedom or death.
The two intertwined as time passed for most prisoners; A simple realization that it was better to die and be released from a life of suffering than to serve the end of days in the darkest amongst cellars.
But fate has many strings. Many break from tarnation. A lot of them snag on each other, weaving together into a frassled net, only to end up never being untangled.

Then there are few simply refuse to break until the whole ball of strings have deteriorated, even if it takes several lifetimes.
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In a dark corner, where even the cries of the tortured didn't seem to reach, a pile of remains laid scattered on a moldy piece of cloth. It used to be the robe of a man, once so proud over the magnum opus of his life, that he wanted to share it with the world.
It seemed the threads of fate however did not want him to succeed. But one who had gained such a blessing could simply try again. And again. And again.
Such was the blessing of eternal life: Tenacity beyond imagination.
After hundreds of years, the empty sockets of his cracked cranium, seemed to flicker back to life. Like the soft glow of a pixie, it traveled in circles within his skull, irate and eager. The jaw clamped shut with a soft snap, and other bones scattered around the cell started shivering slightly.

Footsteps echoed and the cries for help and mercy rung once again. A prison guard slammed his helmcrusher mace against the iron doors to shut the prisoners up as he strode through the long hallway, with doors on each side. The man was searching for prisoners who had died from starvation, so that the cells could be cleaned out and fit new prisoners.
He reached the end of the line and was about to turn to his left, as something caught his eye.

Apart from the light of the torch he held, something shone within the last cell. A soft blue light flickered like a firefly in late summer.
He looked into the small upper window, just high enough for him to reach up to see what it was.
But alas, it didn't matter how much he tried to see into the pitch black darkness of the cell, his torch wouldn't light it up enough.
However, the flickering light slowly came close to the door, as a black shadow came closer and closer to it. Squinting, the guard tried to figure out what it was, but he didn't realize until the dark figure had already reached the door.
The dusky gray skull reflected the warm light of the torch as the tiny blue light within it split into two orbs, swirling within each socket like a perversion of the human anatomy, to resemble eyes.
In fear, both of his hands let go off of both his torch and mace. The torches soft light shone from the floor, casting light under the skeletal features of the skull, before the guards sight went completely dark. And a sharp pain filled his whole body.

Frozen in shock, the guard was easy to subdue; Even by a skeleton.
Sharp, bony fingers found their way into the guards eyes, as they curled into hooks and grabbed onto his head with a firm grip.
The guards head slammed into the iron bars as the corpse pressed it's hollow skull close to his to the point where only the bars were between them. It's skeletal grin seemed more twisted than usual; Not that the guard would even notice, nor ever see it again.

His tears mixed with blood as he flailed and moaned, unable to loosen the skeletal grip, no matter how hard his feeble hands tugged at the iron grip of the skeleton. The bony fingers found their way deeper into his head and the corpse rattled the guards head like a rag doll, until his body just hung there, limp like a fish.
Twitching in an involuntary manner, the last life in the guard was snuffed out. After a couple of seconds, the light from the torch died out by the pooling blood of the guard, and the only light left in the corridor was the cold glow from within the damp cell.

Investigations were followed the day after, when the guard hadn't returned from duty.
His body was found propped up against the wall with an expression of fear spread across his face.
The blood had been tapped and smeared across the walls, like some kind of sick vendetta had been carried out.
The word "Skald" was written amongst the hundreds of smeary handprints and splashes of blood covering the long wall between an open cell and the last corridor of the prison rings third cellar.

The incident was filed as an escape, and the elite amongst the royal guard was called in to investigate the matter. But since no one had any idea who had been spending his sentence in the cell, and no records had been held on a cell that had been closed for so long, they had no idea where to even start.
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A man with a purpose never gives up. Especially being given a gift that very few mortals ever would acquire.
Skald clenched the crystal phylactery that hung from a chain, dangling inside his ribcage.
Soon enough he would continue down the path he had once started. But first, sacrifices had to been made. Ingredients had to be gathered.
Flesh had to be restored.